Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2)

by March McCarron

  Quade seemed to be clutching his sister’s wrist with bruising, white knuckled force. The smile on his pale face did not touch his black eyes, which glinted with a cool dominance that made Peer’s breath catch. His sister looked nothing like she had in the older photograph, no longer round-cheeked and vibrant. Her eyes were dead, her mouth was stretched more in grimace than smile.

  Mrs. Asher returned. “Isn’t that a nice one?” she asked, pointing to the photograph. “You never saw a boy more devoted to his sister than Quade. She was the light of his life.”

  They all took seats and Mrs. Asher handed around tea cups and plates of biscuits. Peer jammed the treat in his mouth, though his appetite had deserted him.

  “You know, I’ve never heard of a female journalist,” Mrs. Asher said, her tone kind and curious.

  Bray set down her tea cup with a small clink. “My father is a newsman, you see, and he had no sons. I was raised to it.”

  “And what about you, dear?” Mrs. Asher asked Su-Hwan.

  Her pixie face betrayed a moment’s uncertainty and Peer stiffened. Su-Hwan was not especially good with regular social interactions, so he could not imagine she lied well.

  “I am Ms. Hadly’s assistant,” she answered, then busied herself with her teacup. Peer was impressed she had remembered Bray’s alias. He’d already forgotten whatever name she’d given him. Adearre had always insisted they use the same ones to avoid confusion, but Bray thought it was funny to do just the opposite.

  Peer swallowed and blinked, forcing himself to focus on the conversation. Bray had produced a pad and was poised to take notes.

  “He was a serious boy,” Mrs. Asher said fondly, clearly responding to a question Peer hadn’t caught. “Terribly smart. By the time he was nine years old he was reading volumes that I myself couldn’t fully understand.” Mrs. Asher laughed to herself. “Why, at that age he organized all of the boys in the neighborhood into a club. He, of course, was the leader. You should have seen the way those little ones admired him. Some people complained that they got up to trouble, but I never believed it. They were just being boys.”

  Bray’s pen scratched on the paper and she chewed her bottom lip as she wrote. “And you said he was close with his sister? What is her name?”

  At this, Mrs. Asher’s bright expression dimmed. “Ellora.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid Ellora was a troubled girl. When she was very young she was so vivacious, always laughing. But as she grew older she became withdrawn, she never wanted to eat, and she would have terrible nightmares. The doctor said she suffered from nervousness. Quade doted on her, of course, but not even he could help her. After he left, she would wake screaming night after night. When he visited, after he was eighteen, she would be a whole new girl while he was here, smiling and affectionate, but then when he left again she would become uncommunicative and disturbed.” Mrs. Asher swallowed and shook her head sadly. “Then, shortly before one of his visits, she just vanished without a trace. Quade was devastated, as you can well imagine. He hunted for her for years, but we never found her.”

  “How sad. I am so sorry,” Bray said. “The constables could do nothing for you?”

  “They searched, of course, but she was just…gone.”

  Peer glanced at the dead-eyed girl in the portrait on the wall. He hoped she’d gotten away.

  “It is, I believe, uncommon for Chisanta to visit their families after being marked,” Bray said.

  “Oh, yes. They encourage those poor children not to go home. Quade couldn’t stay away though, he came often. That is, until his sister’s disappearance. He hasn’t been home since then. I think it’s too painful for him.” Mrs. Asher blinked furiously, attempting to keep tears from rolling free. “I have their rooms, both of them, just as they left them. Just in case they should…find their ways home.”

  “That is lovely of you,” Bray said. “Would it be asking too much if we took a look? I find that the details of a childhood bedroom often add a nice texture to such background articles.”

  Mrs. Asher looked mildly taken aback but, thankfully, not suspicious. She stood, “If it would help your story, certainly, dear. Right this way.” Peer followed Quade’s mother up a narrow stair. When they reached the landing she appeared a bit embarrassed. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind leaving out the smallness of the room in your story? My late husband, may his Spirit find joy, always provided all we needed, but his income was modest.”

  Bray smiled warmly. “Don’t you worry about that. This is a palace compared to my own home.”

  “Really? I would think a newspaperman in Accord could afford a much larger property.”

  Bray colored and darted a look of apology at Peer. “You would be surprised,” she replied.

  Mrs. Asher opened the door to a bedroom not much larger than a closet. Peer lingered in the hallway, as he was not sure all four of them could comfortably fit in the small space. Within, there was a single bed, a bookshelf half-full of various texts. A young Quade had put a massive map of Trinitas on the wall above his bed and stuck tacks in various locations across the three kingdoms.

  “Any notion what the pins meant?” Bray asked.

  Mrs. Asher shook her head. “He was always researching this and that.”

  To Peer’s surprise, Su-Hwan answered, “They each mark an archeological dig site. He has such a map in his office now as well.”

  There was not much else to see in the room. There were old knickknacks: a tangled yo-yo, a rusted pocketknife, and a can of old bits of nails and coins.

  Bray picked up the tin, the collection of junk tinkering within. She quirked a brow at Mrs. Asher.

  “Oh, as a boy he was always digging up odd bits of rubbish and saving them. He called it his treasure when he was young, and then his artifacts when he was older.”

  Bray’s lips stretched in a smile Peer recognized as false. “What an enterprising little chap he must have been.”

  With nothing more to see, Mrs. Asher returned to the hall and opened the neighboring door. “And this was Ellora’s.”

  Ellora’s room proved more interesting. Her walls were covered from ceiling to floor in pinned drawings. The corners of the paper had curled and the parchment had yellowed with age, but the charcoal sketches remained. Ellora’s artwork had a definite aesthetic; all of the images she drew were elongated and distorted, they were dark, evoking a sense of brooding. Peer examined the drawing of a sunflower. It was tall, it’s shadow imposing. The petals were splayed like grasping fingers—the head of the flower was bowed, submissive. Peer, never much of an aesthete, had never seen anything quite like it, had never been so arrested by a mere drawing. He struggled to articulate in his own mind why the picture stirred something within him.

  Perhaps it was the contrast between the subject and the emotion it inspired—a beautiful thing drawn without beauty. There was misery in every line. He thought of the forest of cheery flowers downstairs and how they must have looked through the eyes of a girl who would draw a flower in this way. A self-portrait.

  “She’s talented,” Bray said, spinning in a slow circle to take in the array of images.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Asher said reservedly, “though I never could understand why she made everything so gloomy. I always asked her to draw something nice.” She laughed at herself, her eyes darting away from the walls. “I confess, I don’t like to come in this room.”

  Peer realized suddenly that this was the first time he and Bray had conducted such an investigation without Adearre, without the use of Adearre’s gift. His brow furrowed and he forced himself to look at the room the way he thought Adearre would, with an eye for the details, for the tiny clues.

  The surfaces in this room were all cloaked in a thick layer of dust, motes dancing in the weak light that streamed through the window. Quade’s room had been perfectly clean. One child missed more than the other? Or did this room make her feel…guilty?

  He scanned the drawings and his eyes locked on a picture of a girl—he thought it a portra
it of Ellora herself. Only, unlike the other drawings, this one was rendered with light and appreciation. The strokes of charcoal were done with a soft, feathery hand, rather than the hard decisive lines of all the other pieces.

  “Who drew this one?” Peer asked, pointing to the drawing.

  Mrs. Asher smiled at it. “Oh, it is nice, isn’t it? Ellora’s fiancé did it. He was an art professor at the University.”

  “She was engaged when she disappeared?” Bray asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Asher walked out of the room and they followed. She continued to speak as she led them back down the stairway. “To Redge Lolling. They knew each other since they were children. He grew up a few houses down the road. Poor young man, he must have been most distressed. He left town shortly afterwards.”

  Bray turned and bulged her eyes significantly at Peer. He gave one slight nod. Find the professor, find the girl.

  Bray thanked Mrs. Asher and they took their leave. It was growing late, so they trudged back to the inn where they had taken rooms. Bray seemed fixed on her own thoughts and Su-Hwan was characteristically withdrawn, so they made a quiet party.

  “Shall we meet for dinner in an hour?” Bray asked, when they arrived.

  Peer agreed and stomped up the stair to his private room, thankful for a bit of peace. He kicked off his boots and washed his face with the cool water from the basin.

  He leaned against the table, staring at his reflection in the looking glass. His beard had grown long and straggly, curling away from his chin in uneven clumps. His eyes set deep and dead in his face, not unlike the young Ellora in that photograph.

  Had she escaped her tormentor to begin a new, happy life? Happiness was such a foreign concept to him, in that moment. The word rang falsely in his mind. There was no escaping his own torment. Yes there is.

  For the thousandth time since his escape, his eyes darted to the black leather satchel he had taken from Vendra. With trembling hands he opened the fastenings. Within, in neat rows, were dozens of small vials of the drug he had been forcibly administered.

  Sweat bloomed along his brow as his fingers ran along the smooth glass vessels. He had no name for the drug, except bliss. Except freedom. Except Adearre.

  He closed his eyes and licked his lips, knowing he should not, knowing it would be impossible to stop if he started once again.

  So what?

  His eye lids snapped open. If he could breathe without the ever-present ache in his chest, it would be worth it.

  He withdrew the syringe and loaded one vial into the empty slot, as he had seen done scores of times but never done himself.

  He placed the tip of the syringe to the inside crook of his arm. With a sigh, the needle pierced him, a sweet pinch of pain. He felt the cold drug surge into his body and he collapsed backward on the bed, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  A tingling sensation spread out from his core, leaked down his legs and into his toes, up his arms and into his fingers. He laughed to himself and blinked drowsily, until he was no longer alone.

  “Hello, love.”

  Ko-Jin whistled as yet another arrow thunked to the center of the target. She really was a better shot than him. “Not bad.”

  Chae-Na lowered her bow and peered over her shoulder with a smug smile. “Do I detect a challenge?”

  He grinned. “Never, Your Highness. My pride wouldn’t recover.”

  “Are you such a sore loser, then?”

  “Oh, yes.” Ko-Jin winked. “I pout. It isn’t pretty.”

  A fat raindrop landed on her nose and she darted a look up. Ko-Jin flicked a glance skyward, too—the clouds hung dark and low in the sky, moving uncommonly fast. The air felt electric, hot.

  “We may need to end our training early today,” Jo-Kwan said.

  Ko-Jin folded his arms before his chest. “Don’t sound so eager about it.”

  More raindrops fell, pattering on the grass. Beyond their crag, the ocean had taken on a dark, churning aspect. Ko-Jin hoped this was merely a run-of-the-mill thunderstorm, and not something more destructive. Their cottage didn’t exactly look impervious.

  “Let’s bring everything inside.”

  They packed up their supplies and hurried back to the cottage, the rain picking up steadily. Ko-Jin jogged inside just as a loud crack of thunder sounded. He slammed the door shut behind him.

  His companions appeared a bit skittish, the thunder seeming to fray already damaged nerves. Fernie, the poor lad, jolted visibly at the sound of each rumble. Ko-Jin had to admit himself on edge as well. He braced his hands on the windowsill and gazed out at the darkening horizon. Out above the sea, lightning flickered and pulsed in the clouds.

  Storms had a way of making a man feel small, of reminding him that there were much bigger forces than himself, ready to sweep him away at any instant.

  Ko-Jin clapped his hands together. “Let’s light the hearth and uncork a bottle, shall we?”

  This suggestion was met with hearty assent. Soon the space was warm and full of flickering light, and Ko-Jin sat clutching a mug of wine. He drank slowly, knowing that it would be irresponsible to over-imbibe given his responsibilities.

  They had a leak—rainwater soon began drumming on the floor, just where the floorboards were already warped. Ko-Jin discovered a bucket in one of the kitchen cabinets, and soon the steady drum of water on wood was replaced by a tinny ping-ping-ping.

  Ko-Jin took a seat on the ground, near the fire, and sighed.

  “There is room on the couch, if you like,” Chae-Na said, though if he sat between herself and her brother on the sofa, they would likely all be leg-to-leg.

  Ko-Jin shook his head. “I’ve never minded the floor.”

  He winced at a bright flash of light.

  Jo-Kwan frowned at the window. “I hope the others are not out of doors.”

  “Might not even be storming where they are,” Ko-Jin said. He hoped they would all return soon. It would put him at ease to have his brother at his side, and Bray as well. He gulped down another mouthful of wine, then refilled his cup.

  Chae-Na held her hand out so that the firelight gleamed on her palm. She poked at the blisters there. Her brother grabbed her hand to look more closely. “Mother would be displeased. You won’t have lady’s hands any longer.” He scowled down at Ko-Jin, black eyes accusatory. “Couldn’t you go easier on her?”

  Chae-Na snatched her hand back and flushed.

  “No,” Ko-Jin said. He let his feet slide forward, stretching his legs.

  “No?” the king repeated, brows raised.

  “Earliest lesson I learned from my first sword master, never go easy on a woman. That’s an arrogant error for a man to make.”

  Jo-Kwan snorted. “A sword master taught you to fear women. How?”

  “Easy, she was a woman. Not just a woman, but blind and unmarked to boot. I told her I couldn’t possibly fight her, it wouldn’t be fair. Very principled I was, at sixteen.” He took another swig of wine and the fire crackled loudly in the hearth. “She didn’t answer, just whacked me in the head so hard I blacked out.” Ko-Jin leaned back against the warm stones to the right of the hearth. He smiled at the memory, feeling a bit nostalgic. His thumb idly spun the plain silver ring he wore always on his middle finger. “Quite the woman.”

  Chae-Na shook her head. “That cannot possibly be true—a blind, female sword master. It sounds like a tall tale.”

  Ko-Jin rocked his head from side to side. “Young too, only a few years older than me. Her grandfather is the greatest living swordsman—or was. He died three years ago. It was his school, but he didn’t bother with pupils until she deemed them ready.” He smiled.

  Fernie, who was clutching his knees, seated at the foot of the couch, smirked. “He fancied her, I think.”

  Jo-Kwan grinned. “I think so, too. Look at him.”

  Ko-Jin only smiled wider, though a part of him ached a bit—an old pain. “Oh, ‘fancied’ would be an insufficient word. I’d have called myself madly in lov
e—a great, big bleeding heart. I guess first loves are always like that, though, aren’t they?” He swilled his wine and when he glanced up, he found they were all staring. His face turned hot.

  “So what happened?” Fernie asked.

  Ko-Jin shrugged. “The passage of time.”

  “Oh, come,” Jo-Kwan prompted. “You cannot leave us so curious.”

  The wind outside changed directions, sending the rain hammering against the window.

  Again, he shrugged. “I wasn’t at liberty for two more years. Until we are eighteen, Cosanta can only leave the Cape under supervision. By then, she’d married. Had a baby on the way.” He wanted to stop talking about it, but didn’t like the way this made her sound. It seemed an unfair characterization. He ran a hand through his hair. “She had good reason to question me; it wasn’t her fault. She was convinced I liked her just because she was blind.” Not an unfounded fear, really.

  “Why would that be an enticement?” Jo-Kwan asked. Chae-Na continued to listen silently, unblinkingly.

  Ko-Jin bit down on his inner cheek. This he would not answer, it was far too personal a question. He pushed himself to his feet. “Must see to the necessary, ’scuse me.”

  He found, upon standing, that it wasn’t even a lie. He trooped out the back door, into the rain.

  The downpour soaked through his shirt in an instant, but it felt refreshingly cool. He leaned against the side of the cottage as he relieved himself, felt the rain gathering in rivulets down his cheeks and cascading from his nose and chin.

  As he buttoned his trousers, his skin prickled. His head jerked upward, scanning his surroundings. Between the drear and the rain itself, it was difficult to see. But he knew, knew the way one senses a person standing close at their back, that he was not alone—that there were people, many of them, in the tree line. He was being watched.

  He reentered the cottage, rain streaming from him, and strode to the window. He thought he could discern shadows shifting in the yard, but could not be certain.

  “We’ve been found,” he said over his shoulder. “Arm yourselves.” His three companions gazed up at him blankly. He snapped his fingers. “Quickly!”